


Who Wears The What?

by PastelWonder



Category: Millennium Trilogy - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 01:46:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6684322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelWonder/pseuds/PastelWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You-” she hisses. “You’ve made me fat.” </p><p>“Sorry, I've made you fat? No. No, you’re not.” He waves his hand at her lean, toned arms and the lines in her abs below her ribs.  </p><p>“Like you said, these-”  He bends to snatch her jeans, holding them up like a pleading offering to Skadi. “Are shrunk. I shrunk them.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Wears The What?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voodoomarie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoomarie/gifts).



> This is for Voodoomarie, who is always encouraging me in the most wonderful way, no matter what ridiculous bent I'm on.
> 
> Thank you, doll ;)

He’s working at his desk, hunched over his laptop with his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, when she stomps out of his bedroom.

Well, it’s more like  _ their _ bedroom now. 

He hopes. 

No, presumes. He  _ presumes _ it’s their bedroom now.

_ Pay attention, _ he thinks as he notices she’s naked except for a thin pair of men’s briefs.

His briefs.

He decides that’s the least concerning fact when she flaps something at him with a vicious snarl, “Hej!”

She steps right up, shaking what he realizes are her jeans, balled up in her fist, under his nose.

“Lisbeth?”

“You. shrunk. these,” she grinds out, adding, “Stupid.”

He’s eye level with her breasts; her dark nipples have pebbled in the cool air. 

He wants to touch-

“Mikael!”

He throws up his hands,  _ I surrender. _ “Sorry! I- you said they’re shrunk?”

Disgusted, she throws them down at his feet. “They don’t fit.”

“Ah.”

It’s one-hundred-percent involuntary, the way his eyes drop to her belly. She’s still so thin, but now that he’s looking -  _ really _ looking - he notices a little more… roundness, just above her mound.

His first instinct is to reach out and cup it in his hand.

Somehow, he doesn’t think that would be well-received.

“What?” she asks in that flat tone, following his gaze down to her navel. 

He senses he’s in dangerous waters now. 

“No, nothing. I was- Is that my underwear?”

Her hands smooth over her skin there, pulling it taut and letting it go. She studies herself with a clinical eye, like she’s observing an experiment.

“It’s fine if you wear them. I like when you wear my-”

She meets his eyes again sharply. Hers are alight with rage. 

_ Well, shit. _

“You-” she hisses. “You’ve made me fat.”

“Sorry, _I've_ made you fat? No. No, you’re not.” He waves his hand at her lean, toned arms and the lines in her abs below her ribs. 

“Like you said, these-”  He bends to snatch her jeans, holding them up like a pleading offering to Skadi. “Are shrunk. I shrunk them.”

Her eyes narrow and her lips press into a laser-thin line, and she looks every bit like a cruel goddess of winter.

He’s so in love with her it aches.

“Lisbeth-”

One corner of her mouth twists upward. “You did this on purpose.”

He blinks.

_ She can’t be serious _ .

“Lisbeth, that’s ridiculous. Yes, when I’ve made myself a meal, I’ve made enough for two, and  _ offered _ it to you. Fine, I did that  _ on purpose.”  _

He tosses his glasses onto the desk. “I don’t see how that’s a crime, though.”

She blinks down at him silently, and he takes that as acquiescence. 

Emboldened, he adds, “You should gain some weight, Lisbeth. You were much too thin before. You could get sick.”

She nods. Agreement.

_ Well there you have it, _ he shrugs at her.

_ Sweet, stupid Mikael, _ her look says. It’s pitying, and almost fond. Like what one might feel for a particularly naïve pig before it’s slaughtered.

“Stand up.”

“Excuse me?”

She bends down, naked breasts and shoulders brushing his chest, and his cock jerks.

“Lisbeth, what are you-”

Her thin, gnarled fingers pop the button of his jeans and work the zipper down.

His breath stalls in his lungs. He pictures her hiked up on his desk, her long legs cinched around his waist as he fucks her. She’s never let him do that before.

Really, he’d be just as happy to lie on the floor and let her ride him. His back won’t ache  _ that _ badly afterwards-

He bucks in his chair as she yanks his jeans down off his thighs. Another violent wrench, and she’s untangling them from around his ankles.

“Jesus, Lisbeth, let me-”

He stops, gobsmacked as she steps one foot into his jeans, then the other. The warm feeling of arousal dissolves into one of utter disbelief and not a small amount of veneration.

She’s swimming in them; there’s at least four inches too much at the waist. But her triumphant sneer says she’s got a solution to that. 

He’s rooted to the spot, hips canted forward, his briefs halfway down his ass, as he watches her disappear and reappear from his -  _ their, damnit _ \- bedroom, looping on a belt.

He shakes his head once, twice. Then he smiles. 

“Do you want my shirt, too?”

She smirks as she drags on a tank top. “No, the color’s terrible.”

“Ah, ok.”

She does take one of his sweaters, though. His favorite one.

She strides across the flat with that gawky strut of hers, and straddles him in his office chair without ceremony. 

_ Come to gloat, _ he thinks, taking her by the hips. 

Tonight, after he’s made love to her, when she's lolling soft and sleepy in his arms, he will cup her belly in his big hand. He’ll stroke her with his thumb, whispering in her ear all the ways he’s willing to die for her.

“What are you thinking?”

There’s no hesitation. “How much I love you.”

She snorts, one corner of her mouth curling upwards. “Ok.”

She takes his face in her small hands and kisses him deeply. He wraps her up in his arms, in his love, giving her willingly what she demands.

Their lips pulls apart with a sensual  _ smooch. _ Her eyes wander tenderly over his face as she smirks, “Mikael Blomkvist.”

He grins. “Lisbeth Salander.”

“Good bye.” She stands.

He catches her by the hand. “Will you be home for dinner?”

“Ja. Pizza, ok?” She pats her belly.

His face pinches. “Pizza?”

“Ja,” she calls back, then slams the door closed behind her.

_ Their door. _

He smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> You know what I realized? This is the first couple I've written smut for where the chick *isn't* BBW. And I was like... no wonder that scene was hard to imagine! (Not in this fic, in the other one). 
> 
> Not "hard to imagine" in a negative way - my slim and slender ladies, you know I love you to the moon and back.
> 
> Anyway, I imagine Blomkvist with all his cooking and clucking fattens Lisbeth up just a *little* bit :>


End file.
